Weeping Well
by Sanaryelle
Summary: The twelfth Abhorsen Kalliel has locked Mogget up, and digs into forbidden ground where he comes across an ancient danger.
1. Part I

_A/N: When Lirael, Sam, Mogget, and the Disreputable Dog escape down the well in the rose garden, they encounter Astarael. Mogget mentions that a past Abhorsen ventured down there, to his death, and had Mogget locked up because he mistrusted him. Here's my version of that tale._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ancelstierre or the Old Kingdom – that belongs to Garth Nix. And so does Kalliel. Even his personality is inspired by Mogget's comments._

**Weeping Well – Part I**

An outraged voice disturbed the peace of a summer morning:

"Let me _out_, Abhorsen!"

Kalliel ignored the insistent whines that issued from behind the shed's locked door. His uncle Yezael, the eleventh Abhorsen, had built that shed to store fishing supplies, and probably had not foreseen that it would imprison the Abhorsen's oldest servant. Kalliel tried to avoid passing the shed whenever possible, but he had needed a few items from the fishing tower. With the shed occupied, old tools and supplies – torches among them – had been moved into the tower.

"I always knew that you were foolish, even as a child. Thank you for proving my point, Abhorsen – only a _fool_ would keep me locked up like this!"

The broad-shouldered man put down his bucketful of torches, and strode over to the shed until his face was inches from the door. It was wreathed in Charter-spelled chains; marks of caging and shielding, locking and closing, skittered over the bright metal. These bronze chains could only be opened by the breath of the Abhorsen's kin, and no other.

Kalliel raised his large fist and pounded on the door. He was an old man, dark hair having long faded to iron-grey, but he still had strength. "Quiet in there!" the Abhorsen hissed angrily. Every time he passed the shed he had to put up with Mogget's insults. "You should show proper respect."

"Does a man who locks up his servant for forty years deserve respect?" was the scathing reply.

Kalliel gritted his teeth. "Servant?" he snorted incredulously. "One look at your collar told me everything I needed to know – that you are a Free Magic creature bound by great powers, and therefore not to be trusted."

"If you took a closer look at the collar, you would see that I am bound to serve the Abhorsen – will I or no," the Mogget snapped. "Truth be told, I'd rather _not _serve you."

"Then what are you complaining about?" roared the old man, waving his arms in frustration. Kalliel was aware that he had engaged in a petty shouting match with a powerful Free Magic creature, but at the moment he was too irritated to care.

An insolent sigh emanated through the door. "Dust. Damp. Darkness," the voice grumbled. "I hate it in here, Abhorsen, and I am of more use to you at liberty. I am willing – or more accurately, required – to bow to your every whim. I pledge my service, if it means fresh air, green grass, warm sunlight… and fish."

Kalliel shook his head vehemently, although the Mogget could not see him. "Fish?" he repeated, arching a sceptical eyebrow. "You do not require sustenance for survival, Free Magic creature."

"Well, you do not require breeches for survival, but you wear them anyway!" came the immediate retort. The tetchy voice turned very sullen, as the Mogget half-said to himself: "I _like_ fish."

The Abhorsen bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of whether he should be amused or annoyed.

"Just one trout," the Mogget wheedled, pressing his case. "Not even a large one. A nice, plump little trout fresh from the river… still flapping, with glassy rainbow scales…"

"Save your words," the grey-haired man spat, having had enough interaction with the creature to last him a lifetime. He turned to leave and picked up the torches, when an unexpected movement caught the corner of his eye: the chains binding the door were unravelling! They rattled ominously as the slackened loops scraped against one another, Charter marks twinkling. With a stab of horror, Kalliel realized that while shouting at the creature he must have inadvertently breathed upon the chains, releasing the binding spells.

Torches and iron bucket clattered to the ground as the Abhorsen performed some hasty magic to immobilize the chains. Kalliel brought marks of binding to the forefront of his mind and frantically drew them with his hand. The Charter marks melted into the gleaming metal, and the chains twined themselves back around the shed, coiling securely into place.

The Abhorsen took a shaky breath and was careful to keep his distance from the door. "You almost had me there," he admitted, dark eyes grim.

"You did that yourself," the Mogget cried in indignation, but Kalliel was not to be won over. Gathering up the fallen torches and tossing them back into the bucket, he deliberately made his way towards the rose garden. It was good that he had not given in to the Mogget; no doubt the wretched Free Magic creature would disapprove of what he was about to do next.

It had started ten years ago, when he first heard the faint sound of a woman weeping.

It had come from beneath his feet in the rose garden, of all places, and he had resolved to solve this mystery. Cautionary tales were passed down from Abhorsen to Abhorsen about digging into that forbidden ground, but Kalliel did not believe such ridiculous superstition. Delving into the soil with spell and shovel, the old Abhorsen had eventually uncovered the entrance to an ancient tunnel. It stretched down into blackness, and Kalliel imagined that when the night was completely still, he could hear that beautiful weeping emerging from the darkness.

He had fashioned the tunnel into a well to protect it from the prying eyes of any visitors; the entrance was covered with spelled wood, and chains similar to the ones on Yezael's shed. Kalliel had a great affinity for working magic on bronze, and had crafted a ladder which stretched down into the black recesses of the earth.

The twelfth Abhorsen had been down the tunnel only once before. That time, the Charter mark he had conjured for light went out only after having taken a few steps down the stone passageway. Kalliel had made a tactical retreat to rethink his venture, deciding to fetch the bucket of torches from the fishing tower.

Kalliel smiled slightly as he strode through the rosebushes, iron bucket swinging at his side. He impatiently pushed aside the dark red blossoms, stopping only to hiss between his teeth when he pricked himself on a large thorn. Sucking bad-temperedly on his finger, his expression only cleared once he caught sight of the well: a round cover of thick oak planks set inside a circle of white stones.

The twelfth Abhorsen leaned forward and breathed on the chains that locked the entrance to the well. All that remained was to explore what lay at the bottom, and to find the source of the weeping.

_A/N: Continued in part II…_


	2. Part II

_A/N: Here we are: the second half of the story. It is not a humorous chapter featuring Mogget (I'm sorry; I love Mogget too!), but he does turn up at the end of this one._

_Disclaimer: See first chapter. Short version: nothing's mine!_

**Weeping Well – Part II**

Kalliel checked his sword and bells before opening the well. A strong scent of rosemary washed over him, and a tiny hint of something else... something sweet.

Swinging the iron bucket of torches under his arm, he descended the bronze ladder one-handed. The door slid shut. Kalliel was not worried; it would open on his command, and his alone. He summoned a Charter light and continued his descent.

At last his feet touched solid rock. Kalliel placed the bucket on the ground, pulled out one of the torches, and called up a Charter mark for fire. He drew his sword, the sharp hiss of unsheathing metal scraping through the utter silence, and stared down the passageway of worked stone. Peering up at his Charter light, he waited to see if it would extinguish; it did not, and he took a confident step forward. This was what he revelled in: exploring the mysterious. He had experienced the same thrill during his first forage into Death at the age of eight – that had been nearly sixty years ago. As he walked, Kalliel realized that he was whistling a cheerful tune.

The whistling faded when he came to a peculiar tunnel of greenish-white stone. Every surface was covered in strange swirling patterns unlike anything he had ever seen before. Kalliel's light-heartedness gave way to a sense of apprehension, for the unfamiliarity of the tunnel, although initially fascinating, was starting to unsettle him. He proceeded along the passageway slowly at first, then faster, until he was jogging as quickly as he could without tripping over the undulating surface.

The old man finally came to a glowing cavern and he skidded to a stop to contemplate the three tunnels. Where to go?

The Abhorsen jumped at a new sound, and realized with shock that it was a person weeping. It was the woman down the well!

Something impelled him to go back, but Kalliel pushed those cowardly feelings away. The old man held sword and torch aloft, and marched purposefully into the tunnel. He knew that here would be the answers to all of his questions.

Kalliel followed the dark, twisting passageway, and very soon became conscious of the fact that the temperature had dropped. His breath was coming in faint clouds, and he shivered involuntarily. Kalliel felt startled when something tugged at his ankles, and recognized the all-too-familiar pull of the river of Death. But that could not be right…

Out of the corner of his eyes he glimpsed churning water, yet he knew that he was definitely in Life. Apprehension mounting rapidly, Kalliel stopped in his tracks, for once unsure of what to do. He flinched in alarm when his bells started to shake, and a gust of rosemary tickled his nostrils, with that strange sweet smell underlying it.

Then his Charter light went out.

Kalliel's sword quivered suddenly in his hand and he sheathed it, nicking his finger in his haste. Holding up the flickering torch, he fumbled with his bandolier and managed to wrestle Saraneth out of its pouch. The bell was vibrating so hard that he was not able to ring it, and instead he gripped it ineffectually by the clapper. In sudden a fit of uncharacteristic desperation, Kalliel reached into the Charter and was appalled when all that he could feel was Death.

The Abhorsen's panic reached a whole new level when he discerned a strange white light in the distance, and smelled the reek of Free Magic. The light gradually became the outline of a woman, exceedingly tall, with a river flowing around her. A river that Kalliel had wandered many times. The river of Death.

The torch dropped from Kalliel's numb fingers, and he turned and ran.

He stumbled down the passageway clutching Saraneth to his chest like a lifeline. Staggering at last into the luminous chamber, the Abhorsen crashed blindly into a wall and lost his footing. His forehead cracked against the ground, and Kalliel's vision exploded into bursts of light.

Crumpled against the hard stone, he gazed up in silent horror as the woman ducked to float through the tunnel entrance. Kalliel brandished Saraneth like a talisman, terribly aware of the pitiful defence that it made.

The woman looked down on him with an almost loving expression. Then she opened her mouth, and began to sing.

The river surged around Kalliel and took him up in its current, the walls of the cave fading from sight. He had walked the river of Death all his life, and had come back to Life every time. Yet as the cold water swept him off towards the First Gate, he knew that this would be one journey from which he would never return.

The twelfth Abhorsen lay back in the water and closed his eyes, allowing the current to carry him on his final adventure, beyond the Ninth Gate.

_One month later…_

Gilmael leaned forward, hesitated, and breathed upon the bronze chains.

Charter marks sparkled into life, and the links jangled merrily as they unravelled, falling in cluttered heaps onto the grass. The dark-haired youth pulled the door open, coughing at the dust that emerged from the stale interior of the shed.

"Had a change of heart, Abhorsen?" a voice said testily, completely startling the young man.

A white cat trotted out into the sunlight, blinking its bright green eyes owlishly, and Gilmael's mouth dropped open. The cat froze when it caught sight of the young man, and its fur bristled. For a long moment they simply stared at one another, each clearly not having expected the other at all.

"Is Kalliel dead?" the cat mewed finally, lashing his white tail.

The youth gave a short nod. "My grandfather disappeared a month ago," he admitted awkwardly. Pale hands lingered on the sword at his hip, and the bells strapped across his chest. "He sent me these, from Death." The young man's dark eyebrows suddenly drew together in suspicion. "Wait… who and what are you? And why were you locked in the shed?"

"I am many things," the cat answered enigmatically. He licked imperturbably at his fur, voice coming out muffled: "I am mainly a servant to the Abhorsen, called Mogget by some. As for why I was locked up… well, your grandfather did not trust me."

"That sounds like him," the young man sighed, running a hand absent-mindedly through his hair.

The white cat tilted his head. "I have been imprisoned for a very long time," he purred, eyes gleaming. "Over forty years, in fact…"

Gilmael could detect the slight beseeching tone in the cat's voice. This little fellow was devious. "What do you want?" asked the youth, cutting to the chase.

Mogget frowned at being so easily read. "Fish," he mumbled sourly, wrinkling his delicate nose.

The young man let out a very surprised laugh, which faded at the affronted look on the cat's face. "Fair enough," he agreed, fighting to keep his expression sober. "Come into the House, and we will dine. You may have your fish."

"Fish… and a songbird?" Mogget pressed, licking his lips with a bright pink tongue.

"Don't push your luck."

As they made their way through the oak grove, Mogget paused to glance in the direction of the rose garden. A hint of uncertainty sparked in his eyes. Then he gave a little shake of his head, Saraneth tinkling lightly on his collar, and trotted after the new Abhorsen.

Speculation could come later. For now, Mogget was content to think only of how delicious a fish would taste after forty years of incarceration.

**End.**

_A/N: So, what did you think?_

_I have received questions concerning Kalliel's contempt for superstition. People point out that Kalliel, as an Abhorsen, isn't likely to be a non-superstitious man. Here's my reasoning: We know that Kalliel dug knowingly into forbidden ground, and we can assume that warnings of that danger were passed down through the family, at least with the earlier Abhorsens (Kalliel being the 12__th__). In order for him to flout the warnings of his ancestors, I made Kalliel non-superstitious; you must realize that there is a difference between _our _definition of "superstitious" and the Old Kingdom's. In the Old Kingdom, Charter Magic, Free Magic, Dead Hands, Free Magic creatures, necromancers… all of these are a part of everyday life. Belief in Charter Magic and the Dead in the Old Kingdom is definitely NOT superstition – it's common sense. I imagine that superstition in the Old Kingdom would be belief in old wives' tales, urban legends, bad or good luck, charms and talismans, and other such folklore. If you read the story carefully, Kalliel claims that he does not believe in the old stories about horrors buried deep below the ground. In that way, he is not superstitious. Hope that clears everything up!_


End file.
